This is a space for me to write, share my words and play with poetry. You are very welcome here.

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Objects at rest – a poem

Whisper a lullaby now for the universe,
a song of cold spaces unfolding through eons,
a slow sliding movement of planets away
from the core, from each other, adrift.

Murmur a tale of the dying of light,
of the wandering stars that break out from
the tender embrace of their own gravitation,
to hang lonely, unloved, bleak and lifeless, but free.

Sing the unfolding of entropy, blooming
and spreading like virus across space and time
’til each atom is single, and spinning alone
in the deepening dark,

in the silence.

A poem for the Daily Inkling prompt – Objects at Rest. That made me think of Newtonian physics, which led me on to this poem – which, again, ignores the context of the prompt. However, I’m a poet, so I can do what I like.

It’s also an attempt at iambic pentameter, for the dVerse prompt tonight hosted by Frank – a master of rhythm and rhyme. I tend to write in short lines, so iambic pentameter is really tough for me.

A very imaginative and metaphysical foray that gives me a jones for some science fiction. I like the line /a song of cold spaces unfolding through eons/ and ions it seems. Your poem seems to unravel and reverse the Big Bang theory; recentering to the source; very cool.

I love your poem of the universe. It is interesting to me that a star can burn out many lightyears away but we can still see the light for a couple more years or more. I guess in reality nothing ever completely at rest in this universe! It is a wonder we aren’t all dizzy!

I love that poetic defiance, Sarah, and the reference to Newtonian physics, You say that iambic pentameter is really tough for you but I think it’s there in your veins I love the lines:
‘a song of cold spaces unfolding through eons,
a slow sliding movement of planets…’
and
‘the tender embrace of their own gravitation,
to hang lonely, unloved, bleak and lifeless, but free’.

Pentameter is a tidal rhythm which pulls at poetry for better or verse (sorry for the pun) — and I sometimes wonder if its entropies were meant to throttle all meaning in its grip, leaving us spinning alone out there, ever farther way from each other, a collective “deepening dark.” You asked.

I think you’re right – the iambic pentameter is very wobbly. I broke my own Rule of Form, and concentrated on what I wanted to say, rather than letting the form be my first priority. I guess some people can do both, but I’m still working on that! I’m glad if you liked the poem regardless. It’s a niggling set of ideas, so they may come round again…